


Moral Ambiguity

by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Force Bond, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Life After Crait, Life After Leia, POV Rey (Star Wars), Post-TLJ, Shared Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryminded/pseuds/delia-pavorum
Summary: moral ambiguity||noun. a lack of certainty about whether something is right or wrong.He shakes his head in wonder. “I’ve never… I will never get used to this."“Used to what?” she breathes.He swallows hard, cradling her cheek now with his hand, stroking the bridge of her nose with his thumb and then down, over her lips. He gives the bottom one a light tap, pulls it slightly.“Touching you,” he says, quietly, “like this. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To have the right.”Post-Crait, Ben and Rey find that the Force Bond has remained open.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This was supposed to be a one-shot and then it completely got away from me ( _that will be the title of my memoirs_ ), so it's now my first attempt at a short, but still multi-chapter Reylo fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. I thrive off comments/kudos and I love interacting with people here and on [tumblr](http://delia-pavorum.tumblr.com) about my work, Reylo, and whatever else tickles your fancy. 
> 
> Lastly, and most importantly, thanks for reading!

“Let’s lie very still and quiet and hold each other and not think at all.”

— _The Garden of Eden_ , Ernest Hemingway

* * *

 A stirring. A ripple in the Force.

Rey senses it before she's even fully awake. The shift is accompanied by a popping in her ears, a minute discomfort that causes her to stir and murmur. What once used to be an earthquake, however, is now a slight shuffling of consciousness. A deck of Sabacc cards, slightly askew, settling back into place. 

It does not wake her.

No, what wakes her is the physical body, joining her in her standard issue cot. The warm, solid form that, seconds ago, was nowhere near her position in space and time, and yet now— _now—_ is pulling her in tightly.

She allows herself a moment of guilty pleasure, to enjoy the feel of powerful arms wrapping around her from behind, gathering her up to a broad, warm chest, tucking her under a strong jaw. A heavy, booted leg drapes itself across her bare ones and tucks them between his own. A pointed kiss is tucked into the soft spot behind her ear, accompanied by a heavy, satisfied sigh as he resettles. Her return sigh is just as heavy, slightly less satisfied.

“You’re back,” she says in an undertone, stating the obvious.  

“I am,” he replies in kind. His arms tighten around her almost imperceptibly. She burrows back deeper into his body, reveling in his warmth. Inhaling his scent. 

Then they are both silent.

* * *

Since the aftermath of the battle on Crait - after the moment when the Force connected them as he kneeled in the former Resistance Base, wallowing in a sort of defeat, and she ushered people onto the Falcon, reveling in a sort of victory - she has lost count of how many times they have seen each other.

Innumerable.

Cold, silent interactions. Him, sitting in a throne that a severed corpse once occupied, attending to the reports or requests of one underling or another, while she trains in front of him, sparring an unseen partner, neither of them acknowledging the presence of the other.

Livid, red-tinged encounters where their composure breaks and they snarl at each other, teeth bared and voices snapping. Neither has any misgivings about hurling insults and death threats face-to-face as they circle one another, both predator and both prey, yet they ultimately maintain their distance—not fearless enough to reach out a hand once more, either in anger or in something else. 

And then: one meeting, the first and only of its kind, where they come together in grief; a shared mourning.

For one, more rooted in history and a timeline of love and disappointment in equal measure—

For the other, a stolen future of possibilities—

When a Jedi Killer, a leader, and a prince hears news that causes him to fall to his knees in sorrow and a Jedi, a saviour, and a scavenger finds him that way, hesitating only a moment before gently resting her hand on his shoulder, and the bond between them vibrates and sings, the same litany it always does when the two of them come together – at last. At last. 

_At last._

From then on, things are different. 

While the catalyst for the change remains obvious, it’s difficult to define how, exactly, they got to where they are now. Little moments. Incremental in their nature, but when added up and stacked together, form a larger, more meaningful state of affairs. 

It begins with stilted conversation rather than cold silence when the bond forces them together; instead of fierce anger, a tired acquiescence.

Innocuous discussions ensue about the minutiae of life, centering around things relevant to their personal interests, without touching on anything of true significance: how the rules of grav-ball differ on Jakku versus Chandrila (answer: Chandrila actually had rules and you didn’t have to give up your portions to older scavengers if you lost) or which droids were helpful, which were nuisances.

Mundane chatter, amounting to a greater picture of what their lives are truly like; idle chitchat that starts to feel like an old blanket—

“Could you refrain from talking with your mouth full?”

“Could  _you_  refrain from being such a moof-milker?” 

—Something warm and comfortable. Safe.

Rey knows that if she takes a moment to think – to truly be honest with herself – she would understand that, while it was Leia’s death that goaded the two of them into a more peaceful existence, their natures would not have allowed them to stay apart for too long, regardless—the fact that the bond hadn’t closed, even after Snoke’s death, is a testament to that.

Ben’s mother’s death was simply the moment when they stopped lying to themselves. The moment when they finally gave in to what they had always known, deep inside: that, despite everything that had happened on the Supremacy and despite the previous Force Bond sessions – where Rey had actually thought for a brief moment she could  _save Ben Solo,_ only to be proven horribly wrong – the fury and ire in their meetings subsequent to the Battle of Crait stemmed from a feeling of betrayal on both sides, propped up by wounded egos ( _broken hearts_ ). 

In truth, one way or another, they had each put themselves on the line: Rey shipping herself out to Ben, only to be served up on a platter to his Supreme Leader; Ben holding out his hand and offering her the galaxy, only to be rejected, rendered unconscious, and abandoned for the sake of the Resistance.

They had come out of their respective encounters with expectations dashed and bruises on their souls.  _Hurt_  barely scratched the surface of their feelings. And, as it is with survivors and outcasts and scavengers – those who have always needed to make do for themselves and themselves alone –  _hurt_  needed to translate into something that could be interpreted as strength rather than weakness. 

So, hurt became anger.

Hurt became wrath and resentment and cold fury.

—All of which was extinguished the minute a Princess and a General died and her son and her protégé came together to grieve and the Force Bond had meaning once more. 

Weeks of the Force connecting them for brief moments here and there has rendered them somewhat immune to its power. While it is still an experience that neither of them can ignore, it becomes slightly more commonplace each time it occurs; the shift in energy not as  _violent_  as it seemed in the beginning.

Even when they begin touching each other again.

It happens innocuously enough: walking side-by-side in corridors that are galaxies apart, shoulders brushing. Stretching across one another, hands grazing backs and laps, for tools or datapads that are just out of reach. A large, strong hand gripping a slight but sinewy bicep, to steady her when she stumbles. And, just once – when the disappointment of previous unfulfilled dreams becomes too much to bear – bare hands clasping purposefully, palm to palm, to see what visions the Force might bestow upon them this time (the answer: none. Not even a blip on the radar of their minds). 

Even at that determined attempt, they can never quite replicate the feeling of the first time. When fingertips meeting felt like a tiny death, pure energy strumming through their blood and bones like a song. Instead, each time their bodies touch in the bond, however purposeful or insignificant, it simply feels like a comfortable embrace – frissons of energy, akin to slowly settling into a warm pool of water. 

Gentle. Benign. Disappointing even, at times.

Until the day she kisses him.

* * *

Their tentative truce has an unspoken edict: neither asks the other anything about their respective alliances.

Since the Battle of Crait, things have changed. Based on spotty intel, Rey knows the First Order is shifting gears, working through growing pains from the momentum of one Supreme Leader to another. Finding a place for Kylo Ren’s knights amidst the various rankings of an already bloated army. Keeping the peace with a despotic General Hux. Making plans for a future that remains uncertain, despite their advantages in technology and sheer manpower.

The Resistance, for their part, is attempting to rebuild in as many ways as possible with very few resources. They were lucky to find refuge in a former underground base on a distant planet, one of Leia’s last achievements before anyone realized how ill she truly was. There, they spend most of their time preparing, training, and restoring, while putting up with outdated tech and crumbling infrastructure. They are also attempting to gather resources and support from the few places left in the galaxy that are either untouched by the First Order or so far removed from it as to have the luxury to be unconcerned with its dictates.

Finally, and perhaps most significantly, they are still a group in mourning. The loss of their beloved General hit hard and did nothing for morale, following an already-devastating blow prior to the destruction of the Supremacy, and then again on Crait. 

And they, too, are experiencing the growing pains of new leadership, with a newly appointed General Dameron at the helm – earnest in his attempts at governance, but still very green. It just isn’t the same as having the former General’s cool poise and conviction in the face of adversity. 

An overall stressful time, full of lingering grief and uncertainty. 

And Rey doesn’t want to talk to Ben about  _any_ of it.

They’ve built a fragile peace, found a world in their bonds untouched by the affairs of their respective lives. Any talk about how they were each a significant part of organizations that were effectively trying to destroy one another would shatter an already unstable truce.

Rey doesn’t know why it matters to her so much, these moments together ( _belonging? Someone who understands—?),_ but it does. So, day by day, she steadily helps build up the Resistance while regularly meeting with the Supreme Leader of the First Order. 

It only sits well with her conscience when she doesn’t think about it too much.

On this particular day, her and a select few are gathering and restocking meagre supplies on one of the Outer Rim planets that, through prior stealth recon, they know is simultaneously open to bartering and sympathetic to the Resistance. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by Rey that fewer and fewer places are helpful. There seemed to be a prevailing fear throughout the universe, whispers about the Hosnian System and meeting a similar fate, that prevented planets from reaching out and offering support to the primary enemy of the First Order.   

It also hasn’t escaped her attention that her face has become more and more recognizable as time goes on. It’s why her, Finn, and even Rose have to go off-base separately when it comes to supply runs. The bounties placed on their respective heads by General Hux and the more militarized leaders of the First Order for their individual… _infractions_ on the Supremacy are getting larger and larger as time passes; their faces broadcast with more regularity through the Holonet. 

It fills Rey with unease to know that anybody can go from stranger to enemy, for the right price.  

Her thoughts consume her as she weaves her way through the crowds when, suddenly and without warning, her teeth set themselves on edge and the bustle of the market fades into nothing, sound replaced by the echo of metallic whirring. She halts in her stride, trying to get a hold on her abrupt disorientation. Slowly, the dampened sounds of her own location start to trickle back. Ben sits in front of her, a datapad in one hand with a stylus in the other, making notations at what she assumes must be a desk, although the details remain fuzzy. 

“You know,” he begins conversationally, his voice deep and resonant, a faint echo underneath. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. “One day, someone is going to recognize you for exactly who you are, shoot you in the back with a paralyser disc, and notify us so they can collect their exorbitant bounty. You are not as invisible, or invincible, as you perceive, scavenger.” 

The term has become almost a pseudo-endearment between them, yet it still causes her to grit her teeth in a way that has nothing to do with the Force Bond activating. He’s becoming more and more familiar with her, both in his manners and in his speech. He’s also obviously aware that she is in a public space; either that, or he’s been palpating her thoughts gently, understanding the direction they've been taking, reading into her fears. Something about all of it puts her on edge, like an animal backed into a corner.

She refuses to let him see he's rattled her. “And what am I worth, Supreme Leader?” she tosses over her shoulder casually, as she continues to scope out the supplies they need. Luckily the other members of the Resistance that she came with are elsewhere, occupying other stalls and conversing with other lifeforms, so they won’t notice their Jedi leader talking to the air. 

She can feel his momentary surprise at her impudence ripple through the bond, along with a faint tremor of amusement. 

He recovers quickly. “Well, Jedi, if you don’t know by now…” he drawls, purposely leaving his sentence open-ended.

She finds herself smirking, enjoying their banter in spite of herself. One thing they have, something they’ve always had, is the ability to spar both physically and verbally. She spent many years in silence on Jakku, conversation limited to bartering for food and materials, or to arguing about the same. It feels refreshing to not only speak freely, but intelligently – in a way that keeps her on her toes, constantly thinking one step ahead.

She opens her mouth, eager to counter his statement, when she notices his eyes are no longer on her and are focused on some unseen point just beyond her. She turns quickly to assess the threat, before realizing that what he’s seeing is in his world, not hers.

“What do you mean?” His voice, warm with laughter just seconds ago, is now hard and cold. “How can they be certain?” A pause. “Well then, why are you standing here?  _Figure out a way to get to her._ ” The words cause her heart to hitch. His narrowed, imperial gaze stays focused in the same spot for several more beats, until suddenly it shifts over to Rey. Her breath catches at the look in his eyes. He shows her alarm and anger in equal measure, brows drawn in distress.

“You have to leave.” His voice is still hard, but with a slightly raw edge to it now. “They know where you are. Hux just reported that he received intel on your location and they’re sending fighters to you as we speak. I had to make him think—” His jaw works as he looks away from her briefly. “Rey, they’re coming for you.”

For a moment, Rey just gapes at him. She knew he'd felt... _something_  about the fact that she's overheard his command to Hux. Even as he'd been saying it, she had understood implicitly that it was simply him playing a role. A cover for his true feelings. But for him to be  _warning_ her? Trying to ensure her safety? In direct defiance of his organization?

Momentarily disbelieving and stunned, unable to cope with the emotions being dredged up by all of this, she instead focuses on trying to refute his claim.

“No. No, he can’t possibly. Who would have—? Hux is probably just mistaken. It’s a fool’s errand—”

“Are you on Akiva?” Ben interrupts coldly. 

Her body goes cold. They found her. She can feel the blood drain from her face and she swallows hard, her voice gone. Her eyes frantically dart through the crowd, as though the traitor amongst them is clearly marked—an easy target for her blaster. How  _dare_ they—

“ _Rey_.” Ben’s voice is tinged with desperate urgency and it breaks her out of her wrathful contemplations. “ _Go._ ” 

She’s in the Falcon and out of the atmosphere in less than twenty minutes with the rest of her crew. They’re all younger members, slightly awed by their Jedi leader, and they don’t ask any questions. She quickly shifts them into hyperdrive and back to their haphazard Resistance base, with almost nothing to show for their foray off-planet.

If anyone wonders why their supply run is less than fruitful, they don’t ask, and Rey cannot come up with a way to explain – how did she know the First Order was on their way? How did she escape unscathed? Questions better left unanswered. Such is the lean reality of the current Resistance, anyway – making do with disappointments.

Rey feels the failure in her bones.

Later that night, she lies in her standard issue cot, staring at the ceiling. A shift. Gooseflesh rises on her arms. She doesn’t look over. He doesn’t speak.

After a few minutes of charged silence, she can no longer stand it. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t—I know things would be easier for you if I was…” Her voice trails off and she takes a bracing breath before continuing. “You didn’t have to warn me, but you did, so thank you.”

Still, he says nothing.

After a few more agonizing beats, she props herself up on her elbows and turns to look at him.

He’s crouched low to the ground, glaring at her.

“What?” she says, suddenly indignant. She turns her body so she’s lying on her side, head propped up in her hand. “I’m serious—!”

“Nothing,” he begins suddenly, cutting off her indignant exclamation as though she hadn’t even spoken, “about this is ‘easy’. No outcome would make  _this_ easier. Nothing I say or do when it comes to you can be associated with the word  _ease_.” His lips curl on the last word, as if to fully convey his disdain. 

“Ben—” she starts, now fully sitting up, but he cuts her off again.

“We are literally at opposite ends of a  _war_ and we keep meeting like this to— to— what?” He stands and cards his fingers roughly through his unruly hair. “To talk about fucking  _grav-ball_?” His voice raises at the end. He reminds her of a caged animal—all restless, snarling energy.  

She leaps up from her bed to confront him. “You think it’s easy for  _me_?” she snaps back at him, more mindful of the tone of her voice. If anyone is passing by, they may not hear him, but they could hear her. She can’t forget that. “You think I’m not aware of how precarious our position –  _my_  position – is? You think I don’t realize that your numbers outweigh ours by the  _thousands_  and all it takes is one slip up from  _me_  – the name of a star system or a planet or you finding me at a time when I’m somewhere that easily marks our location – to put the  _entire Resistance in danger_? Don’t talk to me about easy, Ben Solo,” she ends in a snarl. “Nothing is ‘easy’ about this for me either.” 

“I would never—” He starts to deny her claim and she sees the exact moment when he realizes what such a claim means; the same moment she realizes it, too.

She still doesn’t trust him.

Ben visibly deflates in front of her, his big shoulders drooping as he shakes his head slowly, letting out an incredulous scoff. He looks away, sighs, and drops his chin to his chest for a brief moment before murmuring something under his breath.

“What?” she inquires, trying not to sound sheepish. She is inhaling and exhaling rapidly, more with nerves than anger. 

“I said: ‘ _What are we doing_?’” He looks up at her and she sees the torment in his eyes. “What is the point to  _any_ of this? We’re further apart in our end goals than we  _ever_ were before.” He slices his gloved hand through the air for emphasis.

“Yeah, because  _my_  end goals are  _sane_ ,” she mutters petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest and ignoring the twinge of dismay she feels at his words.  

“Are they?” he returns softly, rhetorically, his voice immediately projecting a tone that invites self-reflection as he leans forward and peers carefully into her eyes. As though, even without their bond, he can read every thought in her head. She refuses to take the bait. At least not now, here, in front of him. The time for self-reflection, the ever present “ _What if...?_ ” — that comes later. 

Instead she huffs out a disbelieving breath and shakes her head, avoiding his penetrating gaze. She returns to her cot and flops down backwards onto it. Commences staring at the ceiling. There’s silence and she wonders if the bond has taken him away again without the usual shift in atmosphere or other telltale signs. Stubbornly, she refuses to check, even as her heart crawls into her throat.

After a beat, she hears him sigh heavily, and her body traitorously lightens in profound relief.

His sigh is followed by the substantial thud of his boots approaching. Swaths of heavy material shift — he’s always wearing  _so much stuff —_  and suddenly he’s on the ground beside her. She turns her head, unable to hide her surprise at seeing the Supreme Leader of the First Order sitting on the durasteel floor of her battered and minuscule quarters, his long legs tucked up, arms over his knees, gloved hands dangling.

She knows it’s the bond that is responsible for his continued presence, but her duplicitous heart still sings the same litany: he stayed,  _he stayed_. The girl who has only ever known abandonment can’t help but rejoice at that fact. It must mean  _something_ that he is sitting down here, beside her – not elsewhere, ignoring her, and willing the time to pass before their connection is broken once more.

“So,” he says after awhile, his deep voice breaking her out of her reverie. She hazards another glance over at him. He’s looking at her, his gaze skimming her hair (she avoids the self-conscious urge to smooth it down), before softly glancing back and forth between her eyes, trailing down the bridge of her nose until, finally, settling on her mouth. “Grav-ball,” he continues in a murmur, eyes still glued to her mouth.

She stifles a hysterical laugh, which turns into a sound that’s between a choke and a snort, and she claps her hand over mouth, feeling her cheeks redden. His eyes snap back up to hers and his lips quirk, the only semblance of a smile he ever allows. Always the Kylo, cloaking the Ben.

Slowly, she withdraws her hand from her lips. She knows her thoughts must be written all over her face and in the air around them as her brows draw together slightly, forming a notch in the middle. She allows herself the same perusal of his face that he just did of hers. The artfully tousled black hair – infinity times better than hers,  _come on_ – the soulful russet eyes, strong nose, beauty marks she can probably map at this point ( _when did that happen?_ ), the scar bisecting his right cheek ( _hers_ ) and the full lips, sulking even when at rest. She thinks about how he warned her away from Hux’s men today, how he probably saved her life, even though it went against everything he’s fighting for (regardless of how misguided she may think it is).

Would she have done the same for him?

Her eyes flick back up to his. He’s staring at her intently. She sees his familiar tic, a muscle spasm under his left eye that she’s seen many times before. More than that visible sign of emotion, she can feel threads of sensation passing between the bond – the flutter of a rapidly beating heart, the quiver of a sharp intake of breath. Slowly, slowly, her eyes drop down to his lips again. Even slower, she shifts her weight upwards onto her elbows, then over to one elbow, then she turns— 

Her face is now a fraction away from his, their breath comingling, their hearts rapidly beating in unison. Rey remembers a time – it feels so long ago now – where they sat much further apart from each other, hands outstretched but not yet touching. The emotions coursing through her body, her blood, the Force, are reminiscent of the feelings she had then, but somehow even more powerful. Their bond has strengthened – she can feel it. Something that was once already potent is now even more powerful than ever. The Force is a living thing around them, thrumming with energy, as they inch infinitesimally closer to one another. 

Her blood is thundering in her ears. She is nervous, unsure about how he will respond, and she feels a shift in the air – a crevice forming in an otherwise implacable wall. She realizes, suddenly, that he is reaching out to her mind gently, softly, and allowing her to do the same. Understanding that she is hesitant and wanting to reassure her, while also needing to glean reassurance  _from_  her.

She senses doubt, uncertainty – a reluctance to take that which is not freely given. This hesitation, his lack of arrogant conceit, is what cements her decision, finally provoking her into closing the gap between them. With a jolt, lest she lose her nerve, she artlessly presses her lips against his and desperately hopes that  _something_ – instinct, Ben, the Force, or even sheer luck – takes over to assist her in her endeavour.

It is her first kiss, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it all the way down here! Comments/kudos are much appreciated if you like what you’ve read so far. Onto Chapter 2!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMMMMMUTTTTTTT. 
> 
> Here it comes! (Pun intended)
> 
> Comments and kudos are my bread and butter (aka delicious sustenance)

* * *

In the end, it’s probably a combination of all four of those things.

Ben gently, so gently, lifts his hands – which had extended upwards in surprise at the initial contact of her mouth against his – to her jaw, tilting her head slightly so that they’re not just nose-to-nose. He leaves his one hand at her face, his large palm engulfing the underside of her jaw, fingers settling along her cheek and tucked under her ear, thumb stroking gently in the soft spot beneath her chin. The Force speaks to them in dulcet tones, pleasure vibrating through the bond. In her mind’s eye, Rey sees images flickering by, like the faded memories of an old holo. She knows she should pay attention, but right now there is only his hand on her face, fingers idly stroking, and his lips on hers, shifting, opening—

He softly pulls away and before she and the Force can utter a protest, he’s back again, placing open-mouthed kisses to her lips, gentle and wet, kissing and then withdrawing. She finds herself trying to chase his mouth with her own, returning open-mouthed kisses with open-mouthed kisses. Everything is tingling down to her fingers – and lower – and she feels like she’ll never get enough. 

He comes back for another kiss and she tries something she’s seen before, sand-swept memories of other scavengers on Jakku, or members of the Resistance thinking they were being discreet in corners. She wraps her hand around the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and brings his lips to hers once more. Then, tentatively, she licks at the inside of his mouth, past his teeth, touching his tongue with the tip of hers.

He freezes.

She freezes, too, petrified. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do? Maybe people, the proper kind, didn’t really kiss that way? Maybe she kriffed it up like she _always kriffing does_ —

Before her thoughts can get completely away from her, she hears a sound come from Ben, somewhere between a plea and a groan, and his other hand comes up, and both hands tunnel through her hair, loosening the haphazard bun at the back, and he’s slotting his mouth against hers again, tilting her head just so, sweeping his tongue into her mouth in return, and—

 _Oh._

Rey’s body goes liquid. She can feel her pulse beating in her throat, in her chest, in her— 

With an unabashed moan, she winds her arms around his neck, twining the fingers of one hand upwards into his sleek, dark waves, pressing the other downwards between his shoulder blades, pushing him closer, _closer_. 

He wraps his arms around her back, hands skimming down her spine and across her shoulder blades. They’re pressed chest to chest, her thin tunic doing nothing to impede the scorching heat emanating from his body. She’s drinking him in and he tastes like nothing she’s ever had before – warm and nourishing, a sweetness that settles into the pit of her belly. She moans again as their mouths fuse together and he growls in return, his hands shifting from her back downwards, down past her bottom (which gets an appreciative squeeze on their downward trail) and to tuck in behind her thighs. Then he’s lifting her up, _up_ —

It takes her less than a second to wrap her legs around him, high on his waist, the juncture of her thighs pressed somewhere around his stomach. For a moment she has a sensation like she’s climbed a tree and is looking down at the earth below. She knows, even still fiercely kissing him, even with her eyes closed, that her vantage point has just gotten much higher. She has less than a moment to contemplate this dizzying new height before she’s suddenly falling again – _no, not falling_ – his strong hands are supporting her back as he puts one knee down onto her cot and then the other and then she’s lying back and he’s on top of her. Then they’re kissing again, his tongue back in her mouth like that’s where it belongs and she feels his hard, heavy heat envelop her and one especially hard and heavy area in particular that has now shifted with the new position of his body and is insistently pressing into her where she has her legs still open around him, spread for him, the thin material of her lounging pants hiding none of her desire.

Suddenly he tears his mouth from hers with a gasp, drops his forehead to the surface of the cot just beside her head, his scarred cheek touching her smooth one. She can feel his heart thundering in his chest, the shake of his arms as he tries to steady himself without crushing her, the Force pulsing with a yearning she doesn’t even know she can fulfill.

She lifts a single shaky hand (the other is trapped somewhere beneath him) and softly runs her fingers through his hair.

“I—” she begins. She doesn’t even know what she was going to say.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

He’s gone.

* * *

The next time the bond opens up, Rey is expecting Ben to be timid and hesitant in his approach. Shy, a little embarrassed – like she is.

What she _doesn’t_ expect is for him to turn his head swiftly in her direction as soon as he senses her, drop his datapad with a thump on an invisible surface, and stalk towards her like he's the predator to her prey. She quickly glances left and right to see if she’s alone – she’s not. She’s walking down an open corridor to a makeshift mess hall for breakfast and there are others milling about. She tries to frantically but imperceptibly shake her head at him, but he gives her no quarter until she’s backtracking, stumbling over her own feet, until they wind up in another passageway, this one bereft of any lifeforms. The second her back hits the wall, he’s on her.

Knees bending, he ducks his head to kiss her, sweeping his arms under hers and up her back, opening her mouth with his own. She can’t even hide her gratified moan and the Force responds in kind, sighing and pulsating around them. Ben’s answering groan causes warm pleasure to pool in her gut – he wants me, he _wants me,_ says the lonely girl, deep inside.

He’s leaning into the kiss so much she feels her back arching against the wall, but he holds her steady, solid, with his hands in place, one at the curve of her spine, the other between her shoulder blades. Her own hands come up and gravitate to her favourite place, fingers carding through his hair, holding his head in position so she can devour him in kind.

They consume each other for an eternity, maybe less, until she clenches her fingers and sharply tugs his raven locks, intending to pull him away from her. She inadvertently learns something new about Ben in that moment, if his responding growl and heated thrust are any indication. Before she can dwell too much on that fact, she pulls her lips away by turning her head.

“Ben—” she tries to speak, but her voice is hoarse and whisper soft and now that her head is turned, he’s taking advantage of her exposed neck, raining suckling kisses along her pulse that cause her knees to weaken. The thought of someone coming down this way and catching her in this position, either bonded to the Supreme Leader of the First Order or moaning, alone, in a corridor, causes her bones to solidify once again and her voice to return. “Ben!” She places her hands on his chest and pushes him away.

He stumbles and blinks and has a moment, briefly, where he looks – if not outright ashamed, slightly chagrined. It passes quickly, but the moment reminds her of how much he’s changed. He seems more self-assured now, more…balanced. She no longer sees the same level of instability in his behaviour. And although, admittedly, she has little idea about the inner workings of the First Order, his new role seems to have leant him a level of composure that he never had before. She wonders if it is simply the fact that he no longer has the insidious whispers of a monster in his ear. She wonders, further, what that means for the future of the galaxy.

_You would have the answers to your questions, if only…_

She silences the whisper in her head before the sentence culminates.

He continues to look at her impassively, his ragged breath the only outward sign that he is less than composed. His expression seems to say, _Your move_. 

She furtively glances around to determine whether or not they’re still alone. “Where are you right now?” she asks, trying to gauge a sense of his surroundings. She notices he’s dressed down slightly – no gloves, no cape – but can only see him in her current space and nothing of his surroundings.

“My chambers,” he responds. “It’s night where I am. Everyone is sleeping.” 

“Except you,” she notes, something close to sympathy in her voice.

“Except me,” he agrees, eyeing her guardedly. 

She looks behind her. A door. Possibly to a supply closet? She briefly wonders if it has literally been manifested by the Force itself, their eager matchmaker, since she’s never been known for her luck and this is a very convenient development. Warily, she sidles over and tests the handle. It swings open. Seems real enough even if, for a supply closet, it’s pretty sparse – durasteel shelving with scant provisions related to cleaning and upkeep. An outdated MSE-droid missing its wheels collects dust on the floor. She glances at him askance.

“Do you see where I’m going?” she wonders.

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. She knows he can either read or sense the direction of her thoughts.

She steps into the tiny room and closes the door. She’s alone in the room. “Can you still see me?”

“Yes.”

With a gasp, she whirls around. Somehow, he's gone from outside the door to directly behind her. “How did you—?”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “I didn’t even move.”

Shakily she glances up at him, sweeps her gaze over his hair, his face. The mechanics of the Force Bond no longer interest her. Now that she’s in here, with him, she’s lost her nerve.

He takes over. Reaching up, he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, softly, so softly. She loves the feel of his warm skin in contrast to the cool leather of the gloves he normally wears. He shakes his head in wonder. “I’ve never… I will never get used to this.”

“Used to what?” she breathes.

He swallows hard, cradling her cheek now with his hand, stroking the bridge of her nose with his thumb and then down, over her lips. He gives the bottom one a light tap, pulls it slightly. 

“Touching you,” he says, quietly, “like this. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To have the right.”

“Ben,” she whispers. Nothing can prevent the pull, so they meet in the middle and once again the Force voices its delight at their union. Rey feels colours swirling around them, cool blues and warm yellows, wrapping her arms around his back, winding his fingers in her hair. His tongue is in her mouth, licking at hers, and it’s like a song. She feels boneless and free, the chains of loneliness and despair that seem to constantly be shackled to her loosening as she loses herself to his kiss. The power of her yearning for him causes her body to become liquid and she can feel it centering in her core. She might be inexperienced, but she is not innocent. She knows enough to recognize desire and what she feels for this man – this is it.

She whimpers against his mouth as she artlessly tries to grind her pelvis into his, anything to alleviate the growing ache between her legs. He groans and crouches slightly, bringing his hands beneath her legs and lifting her up higher, so that her softness meets his hardness at just the right place and – oh, Maker – yes, yes, _yes_ – and the Force says _this is what you were made for_.

He thrusts purposefully and she throws her head back and cries out, heated and out of control, not even trying to moderate her volume.

“Shh-shh-shh—” he hushes her brokenly, a flush rising on his cheekbones in a direct path to his ears. He’s panting heavily, his hair falling across his brow in tangled waves. “Rey…”

“ _Please_ , Ben—” Her voice comes out between a plea and sob, as she tightens her hold around his neck, “I want—I want—”

“I know,” he rasps, burying his face in her neck, walking with her still in his arms until her bottom gains purchase on one of the shelves. She doesn’t even know if he can see it or if he just knows that wherever he’s got her she’s propped up on something, but it allows him the freedom to dig his fingers into her hips and bottom and purposefully grind himself directly into the spot where she’s aching the most, the unfulfilled center of all her wanting and desire. He’s so hard it almost hurts her, but all Rey can feel is the pleasure that hardness brings, because she is close to something— _so so sososoclose—_

“ _Ah—_!” She lets out an abbreviated cry as stars explode behind her eyes. “Ahh! Ahhh…” She moans and gasps and gnashes her teeth as she climaxes. It’s not so much a pretty thing as it is a necessary thing. The culmination of two people who wanted—needed to unite. The Force is vibrating with her pleasure and it’s only one more stroke and a grunt and Ben sinks his teeth into the spot where her bare neck meets her shoulder as he comes, too.

They are both speechless and panting heavily, trembling arms wrapped around each other as though the strength of this moment alone can keep them together; both terrified that this is the point when the bond will split and separate them, leaving each bereft of the other.

After a few more loaded moments of silence, when breathing calms and pulses quiet, and the Force is lulled out of orange fire back into a hushed blue stillness, they finally each peel their faces away from the other and lean back just far enough so noses graze and breath combines.

Rey scans Ben’s face, the notch between her eyebrows present as she processes what just happened. Ben swallows hard and looks down at her with a heavy-lidded gaze, mouth working in the beginnings of consternation. _Was this okay?_

She answers his unspoken question with a slow nod. Hands still on his shoulders, eyes still on his, she slides off the shelving unit and lands on shaky limbs, no longer eye-level with him. Her legs feel weak, rubbery, and he shifts his hold to support her better as she stands. She opens her mouth to speak again, to say something, _anything_ — when the noise of laughter and the chatter that precedes the arrival of a large group comes through the doorway.

They both jump back, startled ( _what do you mean other people exist?_ ), and Rey feels guilty, alarmed, like someone is about to swing open the door of this essentially abandoned spot and catch her here, with him. 

The noise intrudes in the privacy of their moment and when she looks up to see how Ben feels, he’s – _of course_ – already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hi!](http://delia-pavorum.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, back to the beginning. Hope you enjoyed this little fic of mine. Feel free to leave comments/kudos or get in touch via [tumblr](https://delia-pavorum.tumblr.com) for any reason at all! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

* * *

Cut to the present day.

He is in her bed, wrapped around her.

They’ve developed a different sort of pattern these days.

For one, he comes to her more at night now – her version of it, not necessarily his – when she’s already tucked in her chambers, away from prying eyes. Maybe this is intentional—he’s still stronger in the Force than she is, perhaps he’s wielding a greater sense of control in these otherwise unruly circumstances—

She thinks about how their Force Bond sessions have changed since that day in the supply closet.

—Yes. Ensuring that she is alone is most likely intentional.

While she is admittedly enjoying the _new developments_ within their relationship, she can’t help but feel conflicted, as well. She is no longer an innocent bystander in the bond – no, she is now fully complicit. Although she is not feeding him information that he could use to send a fleet to their hidden base ( _would he do that, even now? Ever?),_ she certainly could be accused of shifty loyalties by some – and downright sedition by others. 

This is what is at the forefront of her tired mind when she feels him slide into the bed with her. It’s why she can’t muster up the usual level of enthusiasm at his appearance. Her heart still skips a beat, of course – how can it not? Even with the frequency of their visits, it’s still hours and sometimes days that go by before they’re reunited – but the anxiety of her dilemma overshadows her happiness ( _happiness_? _Yes_ …complicated, but happiness still) at seeing him.

He obviously senses the change. Even if he isn’t able to read her mind – which she’s not entirely sure is the case, it’s tiring keeping those walls up all the time – he’s attuned enough to her emotions and her usual temperament to know when something is off.

And he is smart enough, or maybe just perceptive enough, to know what it is that’s bothering her.

“The best part about being an evil leader,” he begins, conversationally, facetiously, “is the lack of moral ambiguity.”

She snorts. “Your middle name is ‘Moral Ambiguity’. It fits in somewhere between the Kylo and the Solo.”

Remarkably, he huffs out a laugh. It amazes her that they can even joke about this, but when you live in the Land of Make-Believe somewhere between two worlds, anything is possible, she supposes.

He bites her ear without heat and she squirms.

“It will work out, little scavenger,” he says, after a beat. “Don’t worry too much about all of it.”

“How can you be so sure?” she whispers, the sudden, unwelcome feeling of tears prickling behind her eyes.

He sighs. “You had a vision, once. I did, too. Do you remember what yours was about?”

She sighs back. This old thing. “Yes, I told you about it, if you recall. Fat lot of good that did.”

He nuzzles her neck. “Humour me. Tell me about it again.”

She sighs again, more robustly this time. “I saw…” As she speaks, the images unfold in her mind’s eye. “You and me, standing together, at the end of it all—some great battle. We were together…yes, because I could see you clearly beside me. But it was more about what I _felt_ than just what I could see. And what I felt was you, there with me, _beside me—_ in every sense. What I felt was—” She breaks off abruptly, the realization of what she was about to admit striking her square in the face.

His arms tighten around her. “Was what?” His voice sounds strained. “What did you feel?"

“Ben…” she pleads. _Don’t make me say it_.

“Rey.” _Say it._

She lets out a shaky breath. “What I felt was…” She’s lightheaded with the pounding of her pulse in her ears. “It felt like…”

“Rey…”

“Like love,” she admits in a rush. “I thought when the time came you would turn, because you loved me.” _There_. The words that had hung between them for a moment and a millennium. Out in the open at last.

He is silent for a long moment. She struggles with keeping her humiliation and regret at bay, to not immediately retract her words, to wait and hear what he has to say first, but it’s difficult. Years and years of knowing how insignificant you are – so worthless your own parents didn’t want you – so useless you would go days without eating, because you couldn’t do _your one job properly_ —

“Stop,” he snaps, slicing her thoughts in half violently. “You little fool.”

Her blood freezes at his incendiary words, but his tone gives her pause.

He unwraps his arms from her and climbs over her body so she’s forced to lie on her back and look up at his livid face, his scar white in the dim light, lips and cheeks flushed. “You really don’t know, do you?”

All she can do is stare at him, jaw slack.

His face softens. “You senseless little fool,” he says again, but the words are softer this time. They sound like a caress; an endearment. “If only… if only…” He punctuates each phrase with a soft kiss on her open mouth, as if he simply can’t resist. 

“What?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “If only what?”

“If only you truly knew your worth.” He kisses her again, longer this time, then pulls back to continue. “If only you knew what you do to me, what you’ve always done to me. If only you knew the planets I would _destroy_ , the galaxies I would raze, for your eyes to be on me and me alone for the rest of your days. Do you truly not realize? Did you really not know?” His voice is raw, nearly a whisper now, too. Reverent. “I offered you the universe. I held out my hand and I asked you to be by my side forever. What is that, little fool, my warrior girl—what is that if not love?”

She barely marks the tears silently tracking down her temples and into her hair. “I—” She swallows. “I know you offered, but—I thought—”

“What did you think?” he murmurs softly, kissing the tears falling on the left side, and then on the right. “Was it a platonic offer, perhaps? To rule the galaxy as friends?” 

She shakes her head, still unappeased. “I thought it was about power. Power for you. And the destruction of all I held dear.”

Now he is shaking his head. “You said in your vision you saw us standing together at the end of a great battle. And when I appealed to you in the throne room on the Supremacy, it wasn’t with the promise of death and destruction. Did you even _listen_? I offered you rebirth. The opportunity to start fresh. To build something, together. To let go of the past – believing that you had seen me in your future.” He looks back and forth between her eyes. “The way I had seen _you_.” He is not unaffected at the end of his speech, his own eyes bright and lips trembling.

Rey reaches up and tangles her fingers in his hair, bringing him down to her and kissing him, licking into his mouth and touching his tongue with hers softly. They kiss and moan quietly for a minute, her legs opening reflexively, his body notching into the room they make for him. She pulls away briefly, kisses his scar and lingers there.

“You know what that means?” she whispers against the white mark that belongs to her and her alone. 

“Mmm?” he murmurs, nuzzling her face.

“We’re shit at interpreting visions.”

He stills. Then, with a choked sound, he succumbs to his laughter. His head drops to the space beside her and his shoulders shudder with mirth. He shakes his head slowly as she giggles with him, laughing despite the tears that are still falling. Then, propping his elbows on either side of her, he pulls back to look at her with a rare smile, tender and crooked. The Force is pulsating around them, alive and warm, feasting on the pleasure of the two of them together, soft and happy.

“Yes,” he agrees. “We are. But now you also know the truth of my intent. It was always about you. Wanting to elevate you to the position you deserved. So that, finally, the whole galaxy would know your worth. Not only me.” 

“But Ben…” Her gaze tracks his face, marking his eyes, lingering on his lips. Her hand reaches up and the pad of her thumb rests softly on his full lower lip. “All that ever mattered was you. Not the whole galaxy.” Her eyes shift upwards and catch his again. “Just you.”

There is the telltale twitch under his left eye. His jaw works back and forth with the tumult of emotion her words unleashed. Had anyone ever told this lost boy just how important he is? Regardless of Jedi strength or for another’s nefarious gains, but simply for being himself—for being Ben Solo. Rey feels a rush of emotion in her chest for the precious man before her. Not Supreme Leader nor Jedi, but somehow both, and neither. In the bond, here with her, he is the only thing that matters.

He is Ben. 

She draws him to her and kisses first one eye closed, then the other. The action causes twin tears to track down his cheeks. She wipes them softly with her thumbs and meets his gaze with serenity and strength, saying the words that have always been inside her: “I love you, Ben.”

She feels his breath catch, a violent abbreviated shudder in his chest. The Force pulses now with the emotion her words have wrought between them. She sees his throat working with the strength of this sentiment. When he speaks finally, his jaw is clenched with unspent emotion and his voice is raw and ravaged and barely audible.

“There are no words—” His voice croaks, catches, but he perseveres, “—for the depths of my feelings for you. You are…every _constellation_ , every planet—every moon and every star. Rey.” She is openly weeping and his tears, too, come down unchecked. “Rey…” There is a wealth of feeling in her name. “You are _everything_.”

The Force reaches a crescendo—spectral, kaleidoscopic with the breadth of feeling in their connection. She lets out a sob and fiercely pulls him to her. They kiss like they are each starved and the other is their only sustenance. Rey frantically begins tugging at Ben’s tunic, trying to tear it from him. When it proves unsuccessful, she instead pulls at her own nightshirt to remove it.

“Rey, _Rey_ ,” Ben pleads between kisses, as she tries to shimmy out of the flimsy material. “Stop. _Stop._ ” He pulls back and looks down at her, into her eyes, at her disheveled hair, swollen lips. Down further to the way he rests between her open legs. “Are you sure?”

 _Silly man._ She has never been more sure about anything.

“Ben.” She looks at him pointedly. “Take off your shirt.”

He stares at her for a beat and whatever he sees in her face causes him to immediately oblige. Sitting back on his haunches, he removes his thick sleeveless overshirt and the tunic he wears underneath. The last time she saw him this way, he’d had a training band wrapped around his waist. She remembers the way his naked chest had flustered her. This time, she sees bare skin from collar to navel; and below, a trail of coarse hair that leads to the waistband of his pants.

She wants to follow it.

The handful of meetings they’d had through the bond since their rendezvous in the supply closet had been quick, sexually-charged affairs, mostly about seeking and gaining mutual pleasure with as much expediency as possible. In other words, they didn’t allow for much undressing. The only flesh of Ben’s that Rey had felt was underneath waistbands and shirts. Ben had had a bit more success, loosening breastbands and pulling the collars of her looser tunics down to taste and suckle. And, one glorious time, getting her pants to her ankles and ravishing her with his mouth down below, an act that had fascinated and enthralled her, until conscious thought had eluded her completely.

This time, she wants it all. All of him and all of them, together the way they were meant to be. As long as the Force—

“Ben,” she whispers suddenly, urgently, a thought occurring to her. “What if we start, but then the bond closes?”

He’s already shaking his head. “I’ve been learning, working at a way to maintain it when I want to. It’s not always effective, but already I’m able to control it somewhat. Catch glimpses of you at certain times to determine where you are and what you’re doing. It’s why I’ve been able to arrange our meetings when you’re already in your quarters and then stay for as long as—well, you know.” He has the good grace to colour, just slightly, at his admission. 

“ _I knew it_!” she chirped, triumphantly. “I had a feeling you were controlling it somehow and I was _right_.” A beat. “How?”

A one-shouldered shrug. “I did offer to teach you once, you know.”

She side-eyes him and chooses to ignore the comment. “Come here, if you please.”

He obliges, leaning down once more, his bare chest skimming hers, his heat radiating through her thin shift. They kiss hungrily, hands trailing over bare arms, tangling in already tousled hair. Rey can feel his hardness cradled in her soft centre, can barely prevent herself from canting her hips up and down, restlessly. He groans loudly against her mouth.

“You’re going to kill me,” he informs her, before moving his mouth to her jaw and raining kisses along it. He moves down to her neck, finds her pulse, the velvety spot just under her ear, and nips it gently before soothing it with his tongue. She moans now, wraps her legs around him. Tries again to tug off her nightshirt, except now it’s trapped under his body in addition to hers.

“ _Ben_ ,” it comes out almost like a whine as her arms flop down in frustration. He can’t help but huff out a laugh.

“Patience,” he admonishes softly, working the material out from around their tangled legs, up and over her head. She is wearing nothing underneath aside from a pair of serviceable underwear – she senses how he adores them, and this, and _her_ – and his breath catches at the sight of her bare breasts. Still sitting up, he palms them in his large hands, enjoying the weight, the feel of them—barely a handful in each palm, but enough. More than enough. She whimpers as he plays, rubbing roughened thumbs over her nipples.

She runs her hands up and down his arms, reveling the feel of his hair roughened warm skin underneath her palms. “Ben,” she murmurs, tossing her head heatedly as he continues to tease. “ _Please_.”

He ignores her and ducks his head, kissing her neck with wet, open-mouthed caresses, before moving down with his mouth until he reaches her breasts.

“Look at these beautiful things,” he croons against the side of her breast, nuzzling the small, dusky nipple softly. “Have you ever seen anything so perfect in your life?” She moans as he takes one in his mouth, the back knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers gently plucking at the other one.

She would never have taken Ben for much of a talker in this type of situation, but he continues to defy her expectations, whispering softly to each nipple in turn, breathing secrets into her collarbones, raining kisses and words on sighs down her chest and over her stomach. She self-consciously runs her gaze over her protruding ribs. Even now, where food is – perhaps not plentiful, but certainly available constantly – she finds that she has subsisted for so long with such minimal sustenance that almost everything else takes precedence over food. A habit that shows in sharp corners, where other women have curves. He senses her insecurity and pauses, resting his chin on her stomach as he looks up at her. She looks back at him, lifts her hand to stroke the scar on his cheek tenderly.

“I want no other,” he tells her firmly, kissing her flat stomach. “I would have no other.” Another kiss. A pause. Then, an admission: “I’ve…had no other.”

At the last, she props herself up on her elbows to peer at him more closely. He is resting his chin on her stomach again, staring at her inscrutably. 

“Truly?” she queries, filling an unmarked rush of pleasure at the thought.

He nods slowly. “I’ve led a…complicated life. There has been time to accomplish many things.” He pauses, then adds ruefully: “Except that.”

“I’m glad,” she can’t help but mutter, idly fingering a lock of hair that’s fallen over his brow. 

He chuckles softly and crawls back up her body to kiss her lips. “I’m not surprised, fierce girl.” Then, once again, his kisses trail lower again and lower still. “But you’ll also be pleased to know—” He licks around her bellybutton and grazes his teeth lower. “—that what I lack in experience—” Now he draws her underwear down slowly and nuzzles the coarse hair approaching the apex of her thighs. “—I make up for in enthusiasm.” He lifts his body, abdominal muscles contracting with the effort as she watches in fascination, and his large hands continue to drag her underwear down over her thighs. He manipulates one leg out so he can draw them over and off the other leg. She simply observes him at work, allowing him to control her loose limbs as if she were putty and he, her creator.

His hands skim down her legs, then back up again to the freckled softness of her inner thighs and he parts them further before looking up at her and giving her a wolfish half smile. He trails his fingers lightly over her stomach and then dips them down, stroking lightly between her thighs.

He hisses a breath out between his teeth. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, appreciation clear in his voice as he caresses the folds of her inner and outer lips, gathering silky wetness and spreading it over the tiny bundle of nerves at the peak of her sex. She gasps and moans, squirming under his touch and his gaze. “Look at you,” he marvels, watching the flush rise on her chest and to her neck. “Look at you, all for me.”

“Yes, _yes,_ Ben,” she pants, as he continues to stroke her into a fervor.

“Say it,” he demands, removing the pad of his finger from where he knows she wants it the most. 

“ _Please_ —”

“Say it.” This time it’s less of a demand, more of a plea. She realizes then that this is not some kink, some sexual desire of his to have her at his mercy. He truly wants the reassurance. To hear from her lips that she belongs to him and him alone.

She makes it a point to meet his gaze directly, despite the fire in her body and the inferno of the bond between them. “ _I’m yours._ Only yours. Always yours.”

His brow unfurrows and his jaw works, telltale signs that her words have moved him profoundly. He leans forward and kisses her ardently, returning his hand between her legs to pet and stroke. He fluidly inserts a finger into her wetness, then another, continuing to rub her clit with his thumb. The fire engulfs her quickly and before she can even take quarter of her pleasure it consumes and overwhelms her, throbbing inside and out, electric within her body and through the Force as she comes. She can’t help but cry out, her back arching, her hands grasping for purchase on the thin sheets of her cot. He withdraws his fingers from her body and moves up, bracing his arms on either side of her.

She can see his face drawn with unspent pleasure. His arms tremble on either side of her. “Ben,” she whispers urgently, remembering something, “I want you to know, I’m protected. I got an—an implant, or something—they put it in my arm. So there’s no risk of—anything,” she finishes lamely. She allows him to see the memory of an awkward interaction in the sick bay with an indifferent med droid.

He gazes into her eyes and nods slowly, his mouth quirking upward at her thoughts, while clearly comprehending the implications of what she’s saying. He looks down between their bodies – her, pliant and naked, and him, skin glinting with a fine sheen of sweat, still in his black trousers and boots. She follows his gaze before bringing her eyes back up to meet his.

“Well, this won’t do,” she says, before hooking her legs around his and deftly flipping him onto his back.

Before he can even register his surprise at being manhandled in such a way, she’s already wiggling down his body and effectively undressing him at lightning speed. In short order, his boots and pants are chucked onto the floor and he lays under her, at her mercy, his fitted undershorts the only thing between him and her naked flesh. She sits back on her haunches, only vaguely aware of her own nudity as she admires his body. A sharp collarbone protruding from shoulders so broad it’s no wonder he’s been able to carry the weight of an empire on them. An equally broad chest, with cut abdominal muscles narrowing into a V under his briefs. Large and defined arm and pectoral muscles on top of a frame that could almost be considered lean if he missed a few meals. Tall. _Strong_.

_Ugly._

The world filters through her brain even as she rejects it as the anathema it is. She understands a split second later that it wasn’t a thought from her own head—but from his. 

Looking down at him, she sees his eyes are downcast, his fingers idly tracing circles on the flexed muscles of her thighs. She realizes that he misinterpreted her perusal for disgust rather than the all-encompassing admiration that it was.

Catching his eye, she shakes her head slowly. “Wrong,” she says quietly. She kisses the tail end of the scar on his upper chest, the long one she knows very well, the one that extends up to his brow. It’s the deepest down here. She kisses it again, for good measure. Meeting his gaze again, she moves across his chest, dropping kiss after kiss, until she reaches the other lightsaber mark courtesy of her on his opposite shoulder. “I hope you aren’t expecting an apology,” she murmurs against the puckered flesh. He huffs out a laugh as his eyes roll up to the ceiling and he shakes his head. She drags her mouth down to the larger scar on his side and kisses its edges.

While she’s kissing him, she can feel his straining hardness on the outside of her thigh. She knows it’s an effort for him to keep from touching her, taking her. She sees his hands flexing into the sheets, knuckles white. She sits up on him again, resting just at his upper thighs, and smooths her hands down his chest and stomach, then lower—

His sharp intake of breath turns into a groan as she reaches into his underwear. Wrapping her hands around his throbbing length, she only considers the ways she can bring him pleasure. Pulling his underwear down his legs and off, she grabs hold of him again. Finally, _finally_ they’re both naked, together. The Force strums its approval as pleasure thumps a steady beat in their hearts and around them. She strokes Ben once, twice, haltingly, but in the purposeful way that he taught her, and then suddenly his stomach muscles flex and he’s upright, putting his arms around her, hands behind her back, then flipping her around so she’s lying down underneath him again.

“Ben,” she whispers shakily. Urgently. Her voice suddenly fails her. The enormity of this act overwhelms her. _I do love you_ , she thinks at him.  _I want this_. _I need this._  

He pauses and looks at her, eyes soft and filled, and leans forward to kiss her gently. “I know. I know.” _I love you, too. I’ll take care of you. I’m here._

She swallows hard and nods. She wants this. Now is not the time for trepidation. It’s a time for him, and for her, and for them.

She opens her legs wider and draws him closer. The Force sings.

He reaches between them and softly strokes between her legs with a gentle touch, testing to make sure she’s still ready. Rey, for her part, knows she is beyond prepared to accept this man, can hear the wet sound of his finger coaxing her open gently and withdrawing, shallow thrusts that only serve to drive her mad. He brings his wet finger back to her oversensitive clit and rubs in tight circles until she is almost keening with want. Then he pulls away and braces his hand by her head. His other hand moves down to wrap around his cock, guiding himself to her entrance. He slots the tip in and then brings his hand back up beside her head. He looks at her, askance. She brings her hands up to wrap around the sides of his neck and jaw. Two silent tears track down her temples as she gives him a halting nod. He pushes forth—

Suddenly, they both gasp. A vision, broadcast before their eyes like an image on a holocron, appears. Green, as far as the eye can see. A meadow of sorts. Flowers bloom sporadically, red and blue, wide-petaled with pointed tips, dotting the field like a canvas, adding to the richness of the scenery. An aroma permeates Rey’s consciousness, a lovely and light smell that eases her mind and makes her feel at peace. She understands implicitly that it’s coming from the flowers in the field. _Millaflowers_ , a soft, familiar voice whispers in her head. She doesn’t know where it came from, but it, too, puts her at ease.

_“Mama! Papa!”_

This voice is clearer—young, so very young—gleeful and adventurous. She feels pride and warmth and overwhelming love, but mostly she feels joy that, in a moment, she gets to turn around and see a face she adores.

She looks up at Ben, her Ben, the face above her while his body fills her below, and she sees—

It’s him, the way he is, but softer. A more golden tone to his usually pale complexion. Laugh lines around his eyes. An absence of the dark circles that plague him. Although she knows the light in her chambers to be dim, the Ben before her is awash in the pink-hued glow of a setting sun. He quirks a smile at her, a genuine one, and—

The image cuts abruptly, the scent of flowers replaced by the sterile smell of durasteel and whatever soap the laundry droids produce for the sheets. A scent that typically goes unnoticed by her, but that, now, feels rude and intrusive. The dim lighting is back and so is the face of her Ben—drawn, pale—but still, the face of someone she loves.

She thinks, briefly, of another face. One she did not get the chance to see. 

Looking up into Ben’s eyes, she whispers shakily, “Did you—?” Taking a good, long look at him, she realizes she doesn’t need to finish her question. He did. He saw exactly what she did.

His arms are shaking, both by what they saw and, she assumes, the effort of holding himself up in his current state. She worries that this vision now has altered things perceptibly. That he will withdraw from her, and into himself, and the bond will close—and then where will they be?

Instead, she feels him, still halfway inside her, throb. He’s looking down upon her fiercely, with more resolve on his face than she’s ever seen before (and she has seen him in many different states of resolution in the past). Before she can question it, he kisses her, hard, consuming her mouth with his. He goes down on his elbows and one hand fists into her hair, not aggressively enough to hurt, but enough to keep her steady. He continues to kiss her, tangling his tongue with hers, their teeth clacking together, as he cants his hips forward in the final thrust to complete their union once and for all.

She feels a brief, burning sensation that causes her to cry out against his mouth. She’s had worse pain, much worse, but the invasion still shocks her in a visceral sense. He soothes her with whispers and kisses against her cheeks and lips, loosening his grip on her hair and instead stroking it gently from her face. Once the pain ebbs, she can make out what he’s saying—

“My strong, beautiful girl. My scavenger. You feel amazing. You’re perfect. My brave girl, taking me so well, only you, _always_ , I love you, I love you—"

He withdraws and then thrusts again, continuing to breathe love words against her mouth and jaw. This time she only feels the sweet, wet slide of his cock sheathing itself inside her body, over and over. His hands are everywhere and she finds she can no longer stay passive and still, her own hands skimming his back and arms, knotting into his hair, her hips tilting upwards to take him deeper, _more_ — 

The pleasure unfurls inside her as he continues to move in languid, tempered strokes, in and out—a real and physical thing, uncurling from within her own body, but also the ghost of a feeling – one that manifests around her as much as it does within her – and she marvels at the strength of their connection that, in the midst of her own pleasure, she feels his, too.

Her climax rapidly approaches, especially as she continues to elevate her hips towards his and feels his shaft continuously stroking one perfect spot inside her body, while his pelvis hits the bundle of nerves outside her body where all pleasure is currently centering. She can tell by the way his movements become more abandoned and frenzied that he is not far behind her. They’re both groaning and she tosses her head from side to side as he buries his face in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Then—

A burst of white light behind her tightly closed eyelids. She grits her teeth and lets out a noise that falls somewhere between a grunt and a keen. It’s not simpering and soft, it’s not a princess climaxing on a sigh. It’s harsh and rough and _Rey_. She scrabbles at his back with her hands, probably leaving marks, while she squeezes his hips hard with her thighs.

Ben chases her orgasm with his own, his hips stuttering and then stilling, buried somewhere so deep inside her she’s unsure where, exactly, he ends and she begins. He groans loudly into her neck as he comes, his hand clenching into her hair to the point of pain. She likes it. It makes her feel like his anchor – if not for his hold on her, he would be adrift.

“Lost,” he supplies dazedly after a beat, voice muffled from the curve of her neck.

“Get out of my head,” she responds without heat, eyes still closed.

He allows himself a brief moment or two of collapse, distributing his weight over her slight body. Her nose is buried in his shoulder, where the mark from her lightsaber rests. She nuzzles and then kisses it.

He rolls away, but brings her with him immediately, tucking her into his chest. He strokes downwards and rucks her legs up so they cross, bent, over his. He sighs heartily, pleasure and satisfaction clear both in his sound and through the bond.

“I have to use the ‘fresher,” Rey mumbles, feeling the stickiness of her thighs rubbing together. However, she makes no move to get up, already feels the pull of a deep sleep tugging at her as her eyelids get heavier.

“I’ll go get you a damp cloth in a minute,” he says into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just lay with me here for a bit. Until the bond takes me away again.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asks on a yawn, her eyes now closed, her breathing starting to slow and even out.

Behind her eyes, a series of images flicker, like a half-remembered dream. Her, standing in a green field dotted with red and blue flowers, hair longer and a bit lighter, skin flushed with prominent freckles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. Pink and golden-hued, like she’s standing in the glow of a setting sun. Her smile is luminescent. A small home sits behind her, just over the rise of a hill, made from a sand-washed grey stone, round in design, with a small turret, and capped with an emerald green dome-shaped roof. And, coming down the hill, a small figure—obsidian-dark hair flowing in tangled waves through the air, skipping and hopping on legs still carrying the last vestiges of baby fat, trying not to get tangled in a simple white dress. A name, whispered in her heart.

As the final remains of conscious thought give way to sleep, she realizes that this must be what Ben saw in their shared vision. He’s released his hold on his thoughts and she’s picking them up subconsciously as she falls asleep. This is her final coherent reflection as sleep consumes her and she peacefully drifts off, comfortable and warm, safe and loved.

Ben stays awake a few minutes more.

He allows a tear to spill from his one eye, down his temple, into his hair, unwilling to remove his hands from Rey’s body in order to swipe it away. He thinks once more on the vision they shared, rifling through the images. Locking them away in his heart. His future has been granted sudden and searing clarity.

“Yes,” he finally answers her earlier question, even though he knows she can’t hear him at a conscious level, “I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.” He kisses her softly on the head. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers (or those proficient in Wookieepedia, like yours truly) should be able to discern the location of Rey and Ben's final vision. Let me know in the comments if you figured it out! :)


End file.
